Foreword:

  This poem was made for a school assignment,

and so is a weird mix of "hey, that's a good line!"

And "how do I make this you know what? Fuck it."

With that in mind, please enjoy the first thing I was

forced to soullessly make to appease Aeries (the

school grade book & assignment manager, not the

god).

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A hand.

On it five fingers,

three long and thin.

Of the last two, one is small,

the other strong and thick.

The Middle—longest—finger, curls in

‘bout half-way to Palm it stops.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

There is a pressure Thumb-side:

‘round the center.

Beside the Thumb—strongest. There, another

pressure in the crease between it and the next finger.

Bending down, the Thumb presses.

Holding down, the pressures grow.

Pushing down from a third side; it too bends:

The Index finger—sat between Middle and Thumb.

Pinched between these three,

the pressure is held—the hand moves down.

A force presses up, from the bottom of the hand

against the Pinkie—smallest—the pressure stands.

And backed by Ring—Fourth—finger,

the work can start.

Fingers hold together, pressing pencil onto page.

may they work Forever—there are poems to be made.

Fin~

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